Shovel Talk
by Ataralassie
Summary: It seems to me elven fathers are really protective of their daughters. Considering who Nerdanel married...well, I'm sure it's not too much of a long shot that something like this happened. Slightly AU.


The night had finally arrived! That night that had been spoken of amongst the gossips of Tirion for the past year, since it was first announced that Prince Fëanáro was to be wed.

Though he would admit it to no one, the Prince was feeling rather nervous about the entire affair. It wasn't that he was afraid he'd made the wrong choice with Nerdanel, quite the contrary, Curufinwë Fëanáro did not second guess himself after all! In fact, the more time he spent with her, the more he knew he had indeed made the right choice. Who else but someone as wise and patient as his betrothed would be able to put up with him? And who else was stubborn enough to put up a decent argument against him?

No, he'd certainly made the right choice in wedding Nerdanel, Fëanor thought as he galloped down the long, spiraling staircase from his chambers down to the main hall of the palace to join the others for the wedding feast. It was more like...more like he was finishing one long project- his life before today- and he wasn't quite sure what to do next. Yes, that seemed to fit.

He found Nerdanel standing just outside the dining hall. It felt odd, seeing her here in the extravagance of the palace, with it's tall open archways, marble floors, and tapestry lined walls, instead of in her own, more modest home. A smile crept across his face as he watched her examining her surroundings, appraising them as only a craftswoman such as herself could.

He walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, "Well, my lady," he purred, his lips just barely brushing the back of her ear, "What do you think? Is the palace magnificent enough for your liking?"

She laughed and turned around, returning her soon-to-be-husband's embrace before backing away. "It is, perhaps, a bit too much for a nissi with tastes as simple as mine." She said. Suddenly, she crossed her arms and grave Fëanor a stern look. "You're late."

"I," Fëanor said with an airy wave of his hand, "am never late. Everyone else is merely early."

At this Nerdanel rolled her eyes. She was about to say something else when another voice interrupted her.

"M'lord." Mahtan. Fëanor turned and gave his future father-in-law a questioning look.

"Might I have a word with you? There is a matter I wish to discuss with you before..." The elder Elf's gaze traveled back to his daughter for a moment. He scratched at his beard distractedly. When he turned his eyes back to Fëanor his expression was sterner than the Prince had ever seen it before.

"Of course..." Fëanor replied. He was curious. The formality was rather odd, he'd always rather liked the smith truth be told, and up to this point he'd thought Mahtan had felt the same way. "The gardens are down this way, if you would like a more private conversation? I doubt there is anyone out there at this moment, considering..." He shrugged.

Mahtan grunted and gave Fëanor a curt nod. They began walking down the corridor to a door that led outside.

"So..." Mahtan began, "The night has finally arrived. Tonight you and my daughter shall finally be wed."

"Yes..." Fëanor couldn't help but notice the slight emphasis Mahtan put on the words "my daughter."

"She loves you, you know. Cares for you deeply. I can see it in the way she looks at you." The smith nodded. He wasn't looking at Fëanor, instead he continued to stare on straight ahead.

Fëanor smirked, "I should hope so. Otherwise it shall be a very long, very unpleasant life for the both of us."

Mahtan turned to Fëanor than and gave him a flat look. The Prince of the Noldor shifted in his spot, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable.

"Well...yes..." he muttered, "I do imagine there _is_ a point to all of this, isn't there?"

Mahtan raised an eyebrow at Fëanor. His eyes, normally sparkling with laughter, were now cold and stern. Even under the most creative and painful torture Morgoth could come up with Fëanor would never admit to it, but there was something almost frightening about that look.

"Tell me, Fëanáro, you love Nerdanel, yes?"

Fëanor gaped at the other Elf. Quickly composing his face into a more dignified expression, he drawled: "No, Mahtan, despite the fact that I could quite possibly have any nissi I wanted as my wife, and yet have chosen the daughter of a smith, I feel absolutely nothing for your daughter." He rolled his eyes. "We are being wedded _tonight!_ _Of course _ I love her!"

"You must forgive me." Mahtan said. He didn't sound all that sorry, really. "I merely wish to remind you that you are not the only one who cares for her."

"Well, yes." Fëanor said, thinking he knew where this was going. "she is your daughter after all and-"

"I've not yet finished yet, m'lord." Mahtan said, "She _is_ my daughter, and I would do anything to protect her. If her heart were to be broken..." the smith shrugged. There was an oddly viscous light in his eyes.

Fëanor scowled. "If you are suggesting that I would do anything-"

"I know what you are like Fëanáro." Mahtan said darkly. "You know, I am well known as a smith. Few people realize how well I am able to _wield _a blade as well."

"Are you threatening me, Mahtan?"

"I do not make empty threats." He paused for a moment, "Your name means spirit of fire, does it not? If I hear one word from Nerdanel that she is unhappy and it is your doing, then I _will_ make sure that fire that blazes within your soul suddenly becomes not even enough to light a candle with."

Fëanor could only stare at Mahtan and blink. He wasn't sure whether to be appalled and angry at the neri's sheer gaul for threatening him, or to admire him for it. He was certainly leaning more towards anger though.

Having apparently said what he needed to Mahtan nodded. "I'm sure we have an understanding now, yes, m'lord?" he said. He clasped Fëanor's shoulder, perhaps a little more forcefully than was truly necessary and began walking off.

Fëanor was too stunned to do anything but stare after the Elf.

It was soon after Mahtan had left that Nerdanel came out looking for Fëanor.

She sighed as she came up next to him and began walking with him back inside. "Everyone is wondering where you are, you know." She said, "You really shouldn't keep people waiting."

Fëanor grunted. "Your Atar..." he began.

"Oh, yes. I imagine he said all sorts of things to you, did he? He's just being over protective." She replied

"He threatened me! _Me!_ Of all people! That goes from over-protective right into sheer stupidity!"

Nerdanel shrugged. "You know." She finally said. "If worse does come to worse, for whatever reason, it is not _Atar_ your going to have to worry about." She kissed Fëanor on the cheek before going in with the others.

The Prince of the Noldor could only shake his head. He chuckled to himself as he followed Nerdanel inside. He _had_ chosen well.


End file.
